“Dalzel!” exclaimed Flower-in-the-Night. “Now you insult me! Now you add insult to injury! Now I see Beatrice was right and you do indeed not love me!”
“Beatrice!” thundered Abdullah. “What has she to say how I feel?”
Flower-in-the-Night hung her head a little, although she looked more sulky than ashamed. There was a dead silence. In fact, the silence was so very dead that Abdullah realized that the sixty ears of all the other thirty princesses—no, sixty-eight ears, if you counted Sophie, the soldier, Jamal, and his dog and assumed Morgan was asleep—anyway, that all these ears were at that moment focused entirely upon what he and Flower-in-the-Night were saying.
“Talk among yourselves!” he shouted.
The silence became uneasy. It was broken by the elderly princess saying, “The most distressing thing about being up here above the clouds is that there is no weather to make conversation out of.”
Abdullah waited until this statement was followed by a reluctant hum of other voices and then turned back to Flower-in-the-Night. “Well? What did Princess Beatrice say?”
Flower-in-the-Night raised her head haughtily. “She said that portraits of other men and pretty speeches were all very well, but she couldn’t help noticing you’d never made the slightest attempt to kiss me.”
“Impertinent woman!” said Abdullah. “When I first saw you, I assumed you were a dream. I assumed you would only melt.”
“But,” said Flower-in-the-Night, “the second time you saw me, you seemed quite sure I was real.”
“Certainly,” said Abdullah, “but then it would have been unfair because, if you recall, you had then seen no other living men but your father and myself.”
“Beatrice,” said Flower-in-the-Night, “says that men who do nothing but make fine speeches make very poor husbands.”
“Bother Princess Beatrice!” said Abdullah. “What do you think?”
“I think,” said Flower-in-the-Night, “I think I want to know why you found me too unattractive to be worth kissing.”
“I DIDN’T find you unattractive!” bawled Abdullah. Then he remembered the sixty-eight ears beyond the curtain and added in a fierce whisper, “If you must know, I–I had never in my life kissed a young lady, and you are far too beautiful for me to want to get it wrong!”
A small smile, heralded by a deep dimple, stole across Flower-in-the-Night’s mouth. “And how many young ladies have you kissed by now?”
“None!” groaned Abdullah. “I am still a total amateur!”
“So am I,” admitted Flower-in-the-Night. “Though at least I know enough not to mistake you for a woman now. That was very stupid!”
She gave a gurgle of laughter. Abdullah gave another gurgle. In no time at all, both of them were laughing heartily, until Abdullah gasped, “I think we should practice!”
After that there was silence from behind the curtain. This silence went on so long that all the princesses ran out of small talk, except Princess Beatrice, who seemed to have a lot to say to the soldier. At length Sophie called out, “Are you two finished?”
“Certainly,” Flower-in-the-Night and Abdullah called out. “Absolutely!”
“Then let’s make some plans,” said Sophie.
Plans were no problem at all to Abdullah in the state of mind he was in just then. He came out from behind the curtain holding Flower-in-the-Night’s hand, and if the castle had chanced to vanish at that moment, he knew he could have walked on the clouds beneath or, failing that, on air. As it was, he walked across what seemed a very unworthy marble floor and simply took charge.
Chapter 20: In which a djinn’s life is found and then hidden
T en minutes later Abdullah said, “There, most eminent and intelligent persons, are our plans laid. It only remains for the genie—”
Purple smoke poured from the bottle and trailed in agitated waves along the marble floor. “You do not use me!” cried the genie. “I said toads, and I mean toads! Hasruel put me in this bottle, don’t you understand? If I do anything against him, he’ll put me somewhere even worse!”
Sophie looked up and frowned at the smoke. “There really is a genie!”
“But I merely require your powers of divination to tell me where Hasruel’s life is hidden,” Abdullah explained. “I am not asking for a wish.”
“No!” howled the mauve smoke.
Flower-in-the-Night picked the bottle up and balanced it on her knee. Smoke flowed downward in puffs and seemed to try to seep into the cracks in the marble floor. “It stands to reason,” Flower-in-the-Night said, “that since every man we asked to help has had his price, then the genie has his price, also. It must be a male characteristic. Genie, if you agree to help Abdullah in this, I will promise you what logic assures me is the correct reward.”
Grudgingly the mauve smoke began to seep backward toward the bottle again. “Oh, very well,” said the genie.
Two minutes after this the charmed curtain in the doorway to the princesses’ room was swept aside, and everyone streamed out into the great hall, clamoring for Dalzel’s attention and dragging Abdullah in their midst, a helpless prisoner.
“Dalzel! Dalzel!” clamored the thirty princesses. “Is this the way you guard us? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
Dalzel looked up. He was leaning over the side of his great throne to play chess with Hasruel. He blanched a bit at what he saw and signed to his brother to remove the chess set. Fortunately the crowd of princesses was too thick for him to notice Sophie and the Jharine of Jham huddled in the midst of it, though his lovely eyes did fall on Jamal and narrow with astonishment. “What is it now?” he said.
“A man in our room!” screamed the princesses. “A terrible, awful man!”
“What man?” trumpeted Dalzel. “What man would dare?”
“This one!” shrieked the princesses. Abdullah was dragged forward between Princess Beatrice and the Princess of Alberia, most shamefully clothed in almost nothing but the hooped petticoat that had hung behind the curtain. This petticoat was an essential part of the plan. Two of the things underneath it were the genie’s bottle and the magic carpet. Abdullah was glad he had taken these precautions when Dalzel glared at him. He had not known before that a djinn’s eyes could actually flame. Dalzel’s eyes were like two bluish furnaces.
Hasruel’s behavior made Abdullah even more uncomfortable. A mean grin spread over Hasruel’s huge features, and he said, “Ah! You again!” Then he folded his great arms and looked very sarcastic indeed.
“How did this fellow get in here?” Dalzel demanded in his trumpet voice.
Before anyone could answer, Flower-in-the-Night performed her part in the plan by bursting out from among the other princesses and throwing herself gracefully down on the steps of the throne. “Have mercy, great djinn!” she cried out. “He only came to rescue me!”
Dalzel laughed contemptuously. “Then the fellow’s a fool. I shall throw him straight back to earth.”
“Do that, great djinn, and I shall never leave you in peace!” Flower-in-the-Night declared.
She was not acting. She really meant it. Dalzel knew she did. A shiver ran through his narrow, pale body, and his gold-taloned fingers gripped the arms of the throne. But his eyes still flamed with rage. “I shall do what I want!” he trumpeted.
“Then desire to be merciful!” cried Flower-in-the-Night. “Give him at least a chance!”
“Be quiet, woman!” trumpeted Dalzel. “I haven’t decided yet. I want to know how he managed to get in here first.”
“Disguised as the cook’s dog, of course,” said Princess Beatrice.
“And quite naked when he turned into a man!” said the Princess of Alberia.
“Shocking business,” said Princess Beatrice. “We had to put him in the Paragon’s petticoat.”
“Bring him closer,” commanded Dalzel.
Princess Beatrice and her assistant lugged Abdullah toward the steps of the throne, Abdullah walking with little mincing steps that he hoped the
djinns would put down to the petticoat. The reason, in fact, was that the third thing under the petticoat was Jamal’s dog. It was gripped rather firmly between Abdullah’s knees in case it escaped. This part of the plan made it necessary to be minus one dog, and none of the princesses had trusted Dalzel not to send Hasruel looking for it and prove that everyone was lying.
Dalzel glared down at Abdullah, and Abdullah hoped very much that Dalzel truly had almost no powers of his own. Hasruel had called his brother weak. But it occurred to Abdullah that even a weak djinn was several times stronger than a man. “You came here as a dog?” Dalzel trumpeted. “How?”
“By magic, great djinn,” Abdullah said. He had intended to make a detailed explanation at this point, but under the Paragon’s petticoat, a hidden struggle was developing. Jamal’s dog turned out to hate djinns even more than it hated most of the human race. It wanted to go for Dalzel. “I disguised myself as the dog of your cook,” Abdullah began to explain. At this point Jamal’s dog became so eager to go for Dalzel that Abdullah was afraid it would get loose. He was forced to grip his knees together tighter yet. The dog’s response was a huge, snarling growl. “Your pardon!” panted Abdullah. Sweat was standing on his brow. “I am still so much of a dog that I cannot refrain from growling from time to time.”
Flower-in-the-Night recognized that Abdullah was having problems and burst into lamentations. “O most noble prince! To suffer the shape of a dog for my sake! Spare him, noble djinn! Spare him!”
“Be quiet, woman,” said Dalzel. “Where is that cook? Bring him forward.”
Jamal was dragged forward by the Princess of Farqtan and the Heiress of Thayack, wringing his hands and cringing. “Honored djinn, it was nothing to do with me, I swear!” Jamal wailed. “Do not hurt me! I never knew he was not a real dog!” Abdullah could have sworn that Jamal was in a state of true terror. Maybe he was, but he had the presence of mind, all the same, to pat Abdullah on the head. “Nice dog,” he said. “Good fellow.” After that he fell down and groveled on the steps of the throne in the manner of Zanzib. “I am innocent, great one!” he blubbered. “Innocent! Harm me not!”
The dog was soothed by its master’s voice. Its growls stopped. Abdullah was able to relax his knees a little. “I am innocent, too, O collector of royal maidens,” he said. “I came only to rescue the one I love. You must surely feel kindly toward my devotion, since you love so many princesses yourself!”
Dalzel rubbed his chin in a perplexed way. “Love?” he said. “No, I can’t say I understand love. I can’t understand how anything could make someone put himself in your position, mortal.”
Hasruel, squatting vast and dark beside the throne, grinned more meanly than ever. “What do you want me to do with the creature, brother?” he rumbled. “Roast him? Extract his soul and make it part of the floor? Take him apart?”
“No, no! Be merciful, great Dalzel!” Flower-in-the-Night promptly cried out. “Give him at least a chance! If you do, I will never ask you questions, or complain, or lecture you again. I will be meek and polite!”
Dalzel grasped his chin again and looked uncertain. Abdullah felt much relieved. Dalzel was indeed a weak djinn—weak in character, anyway. “If I were to give him a chance—” he began.
“If you’ll take my advice, brother,” Hasruel cut in, “you won’t. He’s tricky, this one.”
At this Flower-in-the-Night raised another great wail and beat her breast. Abdullah cried out through the noise, “Let me try to guess where you hid your brother’s life, great Dalzel. If I fail to guess, kill me. If I guess right, let me depart in peace.”
This amused Dalzel highly. His mouth opened, showing pointed silvery teeth, and his laughter rang around the cloudy hall like a fanfare of trumpets. “But you’ll never guess, little mortal!” he said as he laughed. Then, as the princesses had repeatedly assured Abdullah, Dalzel was unable to resist giving hints. “I’ve hidden that life so cleverly,” he said gleefully, “that you can look at it and not see it. Hasruel can’t see it, and he is a djinn. So what hope have you? But I think for the fun of it I will give you three guesses before I kill you. Guess away. Where have I hidden my brother’s life?”
Abdullah shot a swift look at Hasruel in case Hasruel decided to interfere. But Hasruel was simply squatting there, looking inscrutable. So far the plan was succeeding. It was in Hasruel’s interest not to interfere. Abdullah had been counting on that. He took a firmer grip on the dog with his knees and hitched at the Paragon’s petticoat, while he pretended to think. What he was really doing was jogging the genie bottle. “For my first guess, great djinn…” he said, and stared at the floor as if the green porphyry might inspire him. Would the genie go back on his word? For one scared and miserable moment Abdullah thought that the genie had let him down as usual and that he was going to have to risk guessing on his own. Then, to his great relief, he saw a tiny tendril of purple smoke creep out from under the Paragon’s petticoat, where it lay, still and watchful, beside Abdullah’s bare foot. “My first guess is that you hid Hasruel’s life on the moon,” Abdullah said.
Dalzel laughed delightedly. “Wrong! He would have found it there! No, it’s much more obvious than that, and much less obvious. Consider the game of hunt the slipper, mortal!”
This told Abdullah that Hasruel’s life was here in the castle, as most of the princesses had thought it was. He made a great show of thinking hard. “My second guess is that you gave it to one of the guardian angels to keep,” he said.
“Wrong again!” said Dalzel, more delighted than ever. “The angels would have given it back straightaway. It’s much cleverer than that, little mortal. You’ll never guess. It’s amazing how no one can see what’s under his own nose!”
At this, in a burst of inspiration, Abdullah was sure he knew where Hasruel’s life really was. Flower-in-the-Night loved him. He was still walking on air. His mind was inspired, and he knew. But he was mortally afraid of making a mistake. When the time shortly came when he had to take hold of Hasruel’s life himself, he knew he would have to go straight to it because Dalzel would give him no second chance. That was why he needed the genie to confirm his guess. The tendril of smoke was still lying there, near invisible, and if Abdullah had guessed, surely the genie knew, too?
“Er…” Abdullah said. “Um…”
The tendril of smoke crept noiselessly back inside the Paragon’s petticoat and bellied up inside, where it must have tickled the nose of Jamal’s dog. The dog sneezed.
“Atishoo!” cried Abdullah, and almost drowned the thread of the genie’s voice whispering, “It’s the ring in Hasruel’s nose!”
“Atishoo!” said Abdullah, and pretended to guess wrong. This was where his plan was distinctly risky. “Your brother’s life is one of your teeth, great Dalzel.”
“Wrong!” trumpeted Dalzel. “Hasruel, roast him!”
“Spare him!” wailed Flower-in-the-Night as Hasruel, with disgust and disappointment written all over him, began to get up.
The princesses were ready for this moment. Ten royal hands instantly pushed Princess Valeria out of the crowd to the steps of the throne.
“I want my doggy!” Valeria announced. This was her big moment. As Sophie had pointed out to her, she had found thirty new aunties and three new uncles and all of them had begged her to scream as hard as she could. No one had ever wanted her to scream before. In addition, all the new aunties had promised her a box of sweets if she made this a really good tantrum. Thirty boxes. It was worth the best she could do. She made her mouth square. She expanded her chest. She gave it everything she had. “I WANT MY DOGGY! I DON’T WANT ABDULLAH! I WANT MY DOGGY BACK!” She hurled herself at the throne steps, fell over Jamal, threw herself to her feet again, and flung herself at the throne. Dalzel hastily jumped onto the throne seat to get out of her way. “GIVE ME MY DOGGY!” Valeria bellowed.
At the same moment the tiny yellow Princess of Tsapfan gave Morgan a shrewd nip, just in the right place. Morgan had been asleep in her tiny arms
, dreaming he was a kitten again. He woke with a jump and found he was still a helpless baby. His fury knew no bounds. He opened his mouth, and he roared. His feet pedaled with anger. His hands pumped. And his roars were so lusty that had it been a competition between himself and Valeria, Morgan might have won. As it was, the noise was unspeakable. The echoes in the hall picked it up, doubled the screams, and rolled it all back at the throne.
“Echo at those djinns,” Sophie was saying in her conversational magical way. “Don’t just double it. Treble it.”
The hall was a madhouse. Both djinns clapped their hands over their pointed ears. Dalzel hooted, “Stop it! Stop them! Where did that baby come from?”
To which Hasruel howled, “Women have babies, fool of a djinn! What did you expect?”
“I WANT MY DOGGY BACK!” stated Valeria, beating the seat of the throne with her fists.
Dalzel’s trumpet voice fought to be heard. “Give her a doggy. Hasruel, or I’ll kill you!”
At this stage in Abdullah’s plans he had confidently expected—if he had not been killed by then—to be turned into a dog. It was what he had been leading up to. This, he had calculated, would also have released Jamal’s dog. He had counted on the sight of not one dog but two, dashing from beneath the Paragon’s petticoat, to add to the confusion. But Hasruel was as distracted by the screams, and the triple echoes of screams, as his brother was. He turned this way and that, clutching his ears and yelling with pain, the picture of a djinn at his wits’ end. Finally he folded his great wings and became a dog himself.
He was a very huge dog, something between a donkey and a bulldog, brown and gray in patches, with a golden ring in his snub nose. This huge dog put its gigantic forepaws on the arm of the throne and stretched an enormous slavering tongue out toward Valeria’s face. Hasruel was trying to seem friendly. But at the sight of something so big and so ugly, Valeria, not unnaturally, screamed harder than ever. The noise frightened Morgan. He screamed harder, too.
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